Hero at Large (7 page)

“Holy cow,” Chris muttered. “I hope you like noodles. That could feed a family of six for two days.”

He seemed undaunted. “Hmmm,” he replied and emptied sixteen ounces of peas into a small saucepan. He smiled at her. “I surmise by the look of horror on your face that I'm cooking too many peas too.”

“I usually measure out about half and then tie the rest of the bag up with a twister tie.”

“Twister tie?”

Chris wrinkled her nose. “This isn't going to work. I don't need a cook. I think your aptitude is dubious, anyway.”

“Boy, you get cranky after a hard day at the skating rink,” he teased. He pushed her into the dining room and held her chair.

Chris looked at the table. Matching mauve linen tablecloth and napkins. Crystal goblets. The good china. Sterling candlestick holders and ivory tapers. Freshly polished silverware. “You've gone to a lot of trouble. It's very pretty.”

“Actually, Aunt Edna did it. She wanted me to make a good impression on you.”

“Hmmm.”

“She likes me.”

“She's not too choosy, you realize. Last week
she fixed me up with the meter reader. And before that it was the butcher.”

“Why is she so determined to get you married?”

“I suppose because she had a wonderful marriage, and she wants the same for me.”

Ken leaned against the table and studied Chris. “Wouldn't you like a wonderful marriage?”

“I've already tried marriage. It wasn't wonderful.”

“But it could be. Don't you want to give it another shot?”

“No.”

“Edna told me you were a great skater because you never gave up.”

“I never gave up on skating because I knew I was good. I'm not good at being married.” Chris turned away from the intensity of his blue-black gaze. Why was he doing this—it wasn't like he was ready to propose or something.

“I think you'd make a great wife. You just need some practice.”

“Uh-huh.” Chris turned back toward him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“I could help you out…” He grinned. “You could practice on me.”

“That's a very generous offer, but I think I'll pass.” The sound of sputtering water turning to
steam hissed from the kitchen. “The peas”—Chris gestured—“turn down the heat.”

A lid clanked in the kitchen. Silence followed. “Okay,” he finally called, “I give up. How the hell do you get these peas out of all this water?”

Endearing, Chris thought. Ruggedly masculine but soft on the underside. And very skillful at using his devastating smile and easy humor. She took the copper colander from the kitchen wall and placed it in the sink. “You can pour the peas in here. And then you can use the colander to drain and rinse the noodles.”

He gave a light husbandly kiss. “Thanks. Any other cooking tips I should know?”

“Are you really serious about this?”

“Absolutely.” He put the peas in the glass bowl Edna had left on the counter for him. He poured the steaming noodles into the colander and ran water over them. “How am I doing?”

Chris gave him a begrudging smile. He was doing fine with the noodles, and he was doing fine with his assignment of making a good impression. Ken was a man who knew how to drop back and punt. They carried the food into the dining room and took places opposite each other.

Ken looked at Edna's chicken with reverent admiration.

“I'm not sure I've ever seen a man look at a piece of chicken like that.”

“I can't remember the last time I had home cooking. It seems like I've been on the road for a century.” He put a pat of butter on his noodles and watched it melt. “My mother is a great cook—she makes these noodles in a cheese sauce…” He looked up at her with beguiling blue eyes. “Do you know how to do that? Do you suppose you could teach me to make cheese sauce?”

“There's a recipe for cheese sauce in the recipe box on the counter.” She studied him intently for a minute, trying to imagine Ken as a young boy. He'd probably been spoiled rotten. What mother could say no to those big blue eyes? “Tell me about your family.”

He sliced a piece of chicken and chewed it thoughtfully. “I guess I come from a large family by today's standards—one brother and three sisters. I'm the oldest, and I'm the only one unmarried. My parents still live in the same two-story frame house that I grew up in—in Pennsylvania. Nothing fancy, but lots of love and lots of noise. I have six nephews and four nieces. You can't imagine what Christmas Day sounds like.”

“Does everyone come to your parents' house for Christmas?”

Ken speared another piece of chicken. “The kids enjoy getting their presents under their own Christmas trees.” He savored a forkful of buttered noodles and grinned. “They were afraid Santa wouldn't know to bring their presents to my parents' house, so we designated December twenty-eighth as Family Christmas every year. It makes it easier to travel, too. My brother lives in Connecticut. My sister Maggie moved to Seattle last year. Cara lives in Cape May. My youngest sister, Erin, is the only one still in Pennsylvania. She lives about a half mile from my parents.”

“Sounds like a nice family.”

Ken nodded. “I don't get to see them as much as I'd like.” He looked critically at the bowl still filled with peas. “Too many peas,” he agreed, taking another helping. “What about you? Do your parents still live in Colorado?”

Chris shook her head. “My mom died when I was nineteen. My dad died three years ago. Heart disease.”

“I'm sorry.”

Chris nodded.

“You have a brother?”

“Ted. Two years older than me. He's still in Colorado.” Her gaze rested on his competent hands, slicing off another bite of chicken.

“What brought you east?”

“This job,” she said, turning her attention back to her own plate. “They needed someone with international experience to build a competitive skate program. It's a small rink, but it has some good skaters—last year two of my students qualified for national competition.”

“You like teaching skating.” He speared a final forkful of noodles.

“I love it. I find it much more satisfying than competing. And much less painful.”

Ken looked at his empty plate with a contented sigh. “And I find cooking much more satisfying than construction work.”

Chris laughed softly. “What you find satisfying is eating…not cooking.”

He raised his eyes, suddenly filled with a hunger that had nothing to do with peas or oven-fried chicken. “I have something special planned for dessert.”

Chris felt her temperature rise and wondered how he did it. With a single teasing sentence and one semismoldering look, he had instantly turned her into a quivering mass of overheated half-wit. She narrowed her eyes and hoped she looked menacing. “You looking to get something else broken?”

Ken raised his hands in mock self-defense. His
eyes softened with the recognition of her panic. “You don't like dessert?” he asked in exaggerated innocence.

She shook her finger at him. “You weren't talking about dessert.”

He began stacking the dishes. “I was going to  suggest Irish coffee in front of a roaring fire, and”—he disappeared behind the kitchen door—“a plate full of goodies.” He reappeared with a bakery bag and a sterling plate covered with a paper doily. “I stopped at a bakery on the way home from the airport. You fix the cookies, and I'll make coffee. I may not be much of a cook, but I make an excellent Irish coffee.”

Chris stared at the white bag. It was from her favorite bakery. She peeked inside. All her favorite cookies—and Linzer tortes. She loved Linzer tortes. Smells like a plot, she thought. This could only be Aunt Edna's work. The heavenly aroma of coffee brewing drifted into the dining room. Chris sniffed in appreciation and arranged the cookies on the silver plate. A doily. She sighed. Edna was really going all out on this one.

“Chris,” Ken called. “I need help. I can't carry two mugs of hot coffee with only one hand.”

Chris placed the cookies and the coffee on a tray and followed Ken downstairs. There was
already a fire glowing in the fireplace. An electric thrill raced through Chris as she watched Ken add a log and stoke the embers into life. He wore a powder-blue polo shirt with the left sleeve cut at the elbow. His silky black hair curled over the cotton collar, the muscles in his back rippled as he moved, and his biceps bulged under the soft fabric. Chris allowed herself the intoxicating pleasure of admiring the broad shoulders and slim hips. His shirt hung loose over clean, faded jeans that were loose enough to be comfortable, but tight enough to display well-defined quadriceps and a perfect backside.
I'd trade every Linzer torte on this plate for one nibble at that perfect behind,
she decided, and was immediately horrified that she'd even thought such a thing. She felt her face flame.

He rose from the fire and regarded her with amused curiosity. “Are you flushed from the fire, or have you been thinking naughty thoughts?”

Chris put her hands to her burning cheeks. “This is embarrassing.”

He settled beside her on the big overstuffed couch and rested his injured foot on the coffee table. “Here”—he offered Chris half of his sugar cookie—“take a bite. It will be so exquisite you'll forget about being embarrassed.”

Chris bit into the cookie and let it melt in her
mouth, ruefully thinking it would take more than a cookie to overcome her undeniable reaction to his presence. Sexy. She tried taking slow, deep, regular breaths, but her heart was still pounding.

“Edna told me about this bakery. She said it was your favorite—I can see why.” He waved his half-eaten piece of cookie at her. “I'm an expert on cookies, and these are definitely top of the line.”

Chris licked at the dollop of whipped cream floating on the top of her coffee. His honesty was unnerving. He made no pretense about Edna's help in all this, and he made it perfectly clear that he was on his best behavior, trying to make a good impression. Chris wondered about his intentions. He obviously wanted to live in her house. She wasn't sure why, except that he really did seem to miss being part of a family. And he was physically attracted to her. That was unmistakable. And mutual. No man had ever affected her quite like Ken—not even Steven.

Chris watched him under lowered lashes and felt the warmth flood through her. It was a bittersweet feeling, lovely and sensual as a cat by a heated hearth, and sad because it was all so impossible.
I don't want another man in my life,
she repeated to herself.
Especially this one. He's much too handsome. Too virile. He probably collects women like
ants at a picnic.
But she had to admit this was very nice.

They sat side by side on the comfortable couch, eating Linzer tortes in silence, listening to the hiss and crackle of the fire. Chris sipped at the coffee. She curled her legs under her and closed her eyes drowsily. “It's been such a long day,” she mumbled in halfhearted apology. “I can't keep my eyes open.”

“Come on, sleepyhead.” Ken's voice was as gentle as the hand that stroked her cheek. “Time to get up.”

Chris blinked in the darkness, trying to organize the confusion of her mind.

Ken smiled at her. It was an irresistible, devastating grin—even at the crack of dawn. His white teeth flashed in his black beard, reminding Chris of a pirate. “You fell asleep right in the middle of your Linzer torte last night,” he said with a trace of laughter. “You mumbled something about it being a long day and then you were gone.”

“Did Edna call?”

“Yes. Everyone is fine. You should call Kansas later this morning. Lucy lost a tooth somewhere over Wheeling, West Virginia. I think she'd like to brag to you about it.”

A shaft of golden light escaped from his open bedroom door, partially illuminating the rec room.
Chris gazed sleepily at the man sitting beside her. She unconsciously reached out and touched a lock of black hair that was still wet from his shower. “You smell nice. Warm and spicy…like men's soap and mint toothpaste.”

He captured her hand and pressed a lingering kiss against the inside of her wrist. His eyes held her. “Be careful. It wouldn't take much to get me under that quilt with you.”

Chris felt her heart jump at the touch of his lips.
It wouldn't take much for me to drag you under here,
she silently groaned. “I…uh…I was just…” She closed her eyes tight. “Oh damn. You've got me stuttering.”

“Mmmm, I seem to have a strange effect on you.”

“Yeah. An annoying mixture of lust and sheer panic, and I intend to ignore both of them.” She stretched under the down quilt. “I see you tucked me in.”

“I considered undressing you and putting you to bed, but I didn't want to risk another broken body part. I need all the parts I have left.”

“Very wise.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Four-thirty. Better get moving. Breakfast will be served in twenty minutes.”

She looked at him warily. “Are you cooking breakfast?”

“Edna told me you have orange juice, coffee, and an egg over easy.”

Chris shook her head and muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs. “The woman even told him what I have for breakfast. Heaven only knows what else she told him. He probably knows my shoe size and my cholesterol level.”

Chris locked her bedroom door and her bathroom door and still felt uncomfortable when she stripped for her shower. There was no escaping Ken. He had invaded her bastion of female tranquility and security. He permeated every part of the house. He stirred every latent sex-related hormone in her body.

She lathered her shoulders and watched the soap cascade in slippery rivulets. She was suddenly glad she had kept herself in shape. Thank goodness I inherited a healthy metabolism and a naturally slim body from my mother, she thought. Her hectic schedule didn't leave time for fancy spas and tennis dates. She exercised daily with the skaters in a general conditioning class and tried to run at least six miles a week. She examined herself more closely. Her waist was still small and supple. Her stomach was flat. Her legs still showed good
muscle definition in the quadriceps and calves. Not an ounce of fat, she concluded with great satisfaction. She ducked her head under the steaming water and poured shampoo into the tangle of orange curls.

Of course, she assured herself, the fact that she was taking an appraisal of her body for the first time in seven years had nothing to do with Ken Callahan. She simply had a little extra time this morning and had happened to notice she was still trim and desirable. In fact, she had so much time she decided to use the expensive herbal rinse that made her hair shiny and soft to touch. She whisked out of the shower, humming happily, towel-dried her hair, and smoothed moisturizer over her flawless complexion.

The warm-up suits neatly folded in her dresser drawer seemed strangely bland. They were comfortable and sensible…and blah. Mostly gray. Not today, she decided. She didn't feel gray. She felt red. Maybe turquoise. And she didn't feel a bit baggy. She rummaged through her bottom drawer, finally finding a black Lycra skintight body suit with stirrup feet. She ripped the tags off  a brand-new, sparkling-white turtleneck and pulled it over her head and added a black sweater with bright blue-and-white racing stripes running
the length of the arm. A quick look in the mirror brought a smile to her lips as she settled the wide ribbing on her hips. She carefully added a touch of shadow, swiped at her lashes with the mascara wand, and was startled to find that her cheeks were glowing pink without blusher. “Must have been the hot shower,” she said, putting her makeup brush down.

Chris flew down the stairs and pushed through the kitchen door. A pregnant silence filled the small room. There was a peculiar expression on Ken's face as he stood by the stove. He seemed poised on the brink of some emotion—a look of general horror about him; his eyes wide with surprise, his mouth twitching with what might be laughter, his black brows drawn together in consternation. Chris stopped still in her tracks. She followed his eyes to a spot on the floor just inches from her feet. Her first reaction was to classify the object on the floor with snakes, spiders, mice, and unidentified slime. She jumped back a foot and screamed. “Eeeeeh! What is it?” When it didn't move she bent down to take a closer look and realized it was an egg. Perfectly fried. Over easy.

“It's an egg,” he said tonelessly. “Over easy. Just the way you like it.”

“You did a good job,” Chris told him, almost
choking. “It's perfect. Except…”—she swallowed hard—“except it's on the floor.”

“The little devil slid out of the pan.”

Chris clapped her hands over her mouth in an attempt to abort the gales of laughter that were rising in her throat.

Ken bent over the egg with her. “You may as well go ahead and laugh. You look like you're ready to burst an eardrum from internal pressure.”

“I'm sorry,” she gasped between spasms of hysteria. “I really am sorry.”

“It's the first egg I've ever cooked…in my entire life.” He slid the spatula under the egg and lifted it from the linoleum. “I think it's dead.”

Chris stood ramrod straight, saluted the egg, and tooted out taps.

Ken gave her a withering look and dumped the mess into the garbage disposal. “Would you like me to try again?”

“No. I think I'll pass on the egg today.” She swallowed her juice and sipped at the coffee. “Mmmm. You do make excellent coffee.”

Ken lounged against the wall, watching her with an intensity that made her feel as if she were melting inch by inch. Slowly and hungrily, his eyes traveled the length of her. “Do you have any
idea what you look like? Does Aunt Edna let you go out dressed like that?”

Chris bit back a smile. Damn right she knew what she looked like—sexy as all get-out. And Edna would do cartwheels to get her to dress like this. Edna hated the warm-up suits. Edna called them camouflage.

Chris feigned innocence. “What's wrong with this?”

“It's…slinky.” His face clouded. “Beautiful soft orange curls and eyes like a young lioness…and now this outfit.” He reached out and ran his finger along the outside of her thigh. “It's silky,” he noted, molding his hand to her hipbone. “It fits you like skin. What on earth is this? Something special for skaters?”

“It's a body suit.”

He peeked under her sweater with more curiosity than passion. “It goes all the way up.”

Chris slapped at his hand. “Don't do that!”

He smoothed the ribbing back over her hips. His eyes softened until Chris thought he looked like a blue-eyed cocker spaniel. “You're such an enigma, Chris Nelson. Flushed cheeks and soft lips and a little breathless. When you direct all that wide-eyed excitement at me it turns my stomach
upside down.” He cupped her chin in his hand and rubbed his thumb lightly across her lower lip. “I've fallen in love with you, and I'm worried because you're sending me such a mixture of signals. Sometimes I think you're beginning to like me, and then all of a sudden panic sets in and you get all bristly.”

Fallen in love with her! Chris felt as if someone were squeezing the air from her lungs. “I don't want you to fall in love with me,” she gasped. “And I certainly don't want to fall in love with you.”

“What's wrong with me?”

Chris found herself smiling at his injured tone. “Nothing's wrong with you. That's the problem…you're perfect. You're attractive and sensitive and fun to be with. I could easily fall in love with you…if I wanted to fall in love.”

Ken plunged his hands into his pockets and studied her. “You don't want to fall in love?”

Chris turned away from him and nervously smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her sweater. Of course she wanted to fall in love. Everyone wanted to fall in love. Real love must be wonderful. But fake love is awful…and she obviously wasn't capable of telling the difference. She'd thought Steven had loved her. What a laugh. She folded her hands in front of her to keep from fid
dling with the sweater. “I can't fall in love,” she told him quietly.

“Why not?”

“It's too painful.” She heard her voice falter and took a deep breath to pull herself together. “I have a very nice life. I don't have any intention of complicating it with an emotionally draining relationship.”

Ken crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. “I can understand how you feel. You've had a terrible experience, and you're afraid to let yourself love again. But it's wrong for you to judge me by the asinine behavior of another man.”

Chris turned and faced him. “Right or wrong has nothing to do with it. It's simply survival and motherly instincts and my own personal limitations. I'm not ready to open myself up that much to someone again. I may never be ready.”

Chris lowered her eyes and inspected her shoe. The ensuing silence seemed thick with tension and bitter thoughts. Finally Ken cleared his throat, and she looked up.

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “So, you don't want to get married, and you don't want to fall in love. How do you feel about casual sex?”

Chris felt a grudging smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “I don't do casual sex.”

Ken slid his hand to her waist and drew her to  him, burying his face in her curly hair. His lips were warm, and soft and coaxing. His tongue teased lightly over hers. She felt him savor the kiss as if it were a forbidden and rare delicacy, and her heart responded to the compliment with an aching desire for more. They parted slowly, watching each other dreamily, delighting in the sensual intimacy that lingered. Chris felt him withdraw. A look of questioning uncertainty flickered in his blue eyes for just a moment and was replaced with resolute calmness. Then he sighed and held her at arm's length. “If you don't want to fall in love, and you don't want to have meaningless sex…what the hell is this that's happening between us?”

Chris bit her lower lip. “It's a total lack of willpower. There's something about you that turns me into mindless overheated mush.”

“Mindless overheated mush? Is that anything like gruel? Or Quaker Oats?”

Chris threw her hands into the air. “It isn't funny. I hate it—and it's all your fault. No one else has ever done this to me; you have some horrible effect on my hormones.”

His eyes opened wide in pleased surprise. A smile twitched over his mouth. “Really?” he said, gloating. “How terrible!”

Chris observed his unabashed glee with embarrassed fury. “And you should be ashamed of yourself. Here you are taking advantage of my…affliction.”

He grinned at her in silent amazement. “Affliction? If I thought you were serious I'd really be mad.”

“I am serious,” she snapped, more out of momentum than seriousness.

He held the curve of her jaw in his hand. “You're a healthy, sensuous, responsive woman. That's a beautiful gift, not an affliction. And you're wrong about my taking advantage of the situation. I don't want you doing something you'll regret just because I stir up your hormones.” He tapped her temple with his index finger. “When I take you to bed it will be all of you. Your lovely illogical mind included.” He spun her around and pushed her toward the front door. “We'll talk about this more over dinner. If you don't hurry, you'll be late for work.”

Chris checked her watch and grimaced—she had no time in her schedule for knee-weakening kisses or men falling in love.

Ken reached into the hall closet and extracted Chris' ski jacket. “It's supposed to be cold today—maybe some snow,” he told Chris, zipping her
into the coat as if she were going off to kindergarten. “Be careful driving home.” He gave her a slow, lingering kiss and playfully swatted her behind as she swung through the door.

She turned with an indignant profanity on the tip of her tongue, decided that a simple pat on the  backside didn't warrant that much hostility, pressed her lips together in fury, and hurried to the truck. After all, she admitted, she was mad at Chris Nelson, not Ken Callahan. Ken Callahan hadn't actually done anything wrong…darn it.

 

Bitsy leaned against the rink guardrail and smiled at Chris. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“I can't tell if you're depressed or elated. You have the most peculiar expression on your face.”

“Then it registers my mood perfectly.”

“A man?”

“Mmmmmm.”

A devilish grin spread across Bitsy's face. “The man in the truck?”

“Yeah,” Chris sighed. “Did I tell you he's living with me?”

Bitsy's eyes widened. “Fast work!”

Chris wrinkled her nose. “No. It's nothing like
that. Well, it is sort of…oh hell! Aunt Edna rented him the downstairs of the house.”